


Rococo Kids

by Werepirechick



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Past Child Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shoosh-Papping, Sibling Love, Sleep Deprivation, Suicide, Swimming Pools, Temporary Character Death, and her loving him too, god tier is a literally magical thing, i needed someone to project on, idk if this is any good i haven't written them in ages, just a lil, mostly this is just dave loving his sister a lot, my old faves presented themselves accordingly, non-sexual nudity, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick
Summary: He finds her floating there, suspended and pale. The full-length lavender dress she’s wearing is drifting like smoke around her form, loose as the hair haloing her head. The black of her lips stand out stark against her ivory white skin, smudged on the left side like a bleeding ink stain.Like this, Dave unwillingly thinks of how some people would describe his sister as unearthly and beautiful. Mostly, he just thinks this is sad.“Dammnit, Rose,” He mutters, and lets his sneaker skim the surface of the pool. The one Rose has drowned herself in. “We talked about this shit.”





	Rococo Kids

**Author's Note:**

> i have been experiencing some decline in mental health lately and desperately needed to project my ideations on someone who won't suffer consequences for the thoughts. thank god for god tiers.

He finds her floating there, suspended and pale. The full-length lavender dress she’s wearing is drifting like smoke around her form, loose as the pale hair haloing her head. The black of her lips stand out stark against her ivory skin, smudged on the left side like a bleeding ink stain.

Like this, Dave unwillingly thinks of how some people would describe his sister as unearthly and beautiful. Mostly, he just thinks this is sad.

“Dammnit, Rose,” He mutters, and lets his sneaker skim the surface of the pool. The one Rose has drowned herself in. “We talked about this shit.”

She remains as still and lifeless as she has for the past five minutes- exactly that, as Dave has that thought- and he sighs. Sometimes Rose has the sense to let resurrection do its thing and get back up on her own, and sometimes it’s like this.

Rose floats along the aqua green bottom of her pool, encased in water that is clearer than glass. The only disturbance of the surface comes from Dave’s brief toeing of it, adding to that impression.

Dave kinda really hates looking at her like this, even if he gets it. Kanaya is away with Karkat and won't be back for at least another few days; special moirail retreat from the public eye. Like Rose clearly has, Dave has also been getting away with things while his partner is absent. He only came by to see Rose because... he's not sure. Maybe because he wanted her to talk him out of stuff, or maybe because he somehow sensed he needed to talk  _her_ out of stuff.

Looks like he's too late to, fuck.

He captchalogues his sneakers, socks, and hoodie, and lets himself fall out of the air above the water. The pool is practically frigid as he splashes into it, and Dave is even less impressed with how his night is going. He swims downwards in long strokes, descending towards his sister. His aviators stay on his face probably from sheer force of will.

Rose is limp and colder than ice as he grabs her; the dress’s long folds tangling them both as Dave kicks around for a moment, remembers he can just fly them out, and does so. Pulling her out of the water takes away the effect of weightlessness, and Rose nearly drags him off balance as her stupidly heavy dress acts like deadweight.

Not that Rose isn’t literal deadweight, hanging in his arms like giant stiff porcelain doll. It’s only a little less disturbing than it could be, since this isn’t the first time.

Dave’s hair sticks to his sunglasses as he flies them to the edge, water dripping everywhere from them both. He sets his sister down gently on the tiles, sitting back a few feet and waiting for the rebound to start.

Only a Just or Heroic death can kill a god. Rose dunking herself in the nearest waterbody, for whatever reason it is tonight, hardly counts.

Rose jerks a few minutes later- two and twenty-six seconds, she’s resisting only a little now- and gaudy multicolor light covers her body. It’s blinding, and then fades to reveal that life has colored Rose’s cheeks again. Of course, Rose also starts choking on the residual water in her throat.

Dave rolls Rose on her side as she coughs violently, rubbing her bare back as she spits chlorine filled water onto the pool deck. The backless dress remains wet despite the resurrection because God Tier shit only extends to their game clothes. This is probably a lovely number Kanaya made for her wife, and while Dave knows shit all about fabrics, he thinks his sister has ruined it thoroughly.

Rose shivers and keeps taking gasping breaths, recovering from being dead for- Dave checks the history around Rose, and finds she’s been down for five hours and twelve minutes.

And she didn’t even text him before she did it. That hurts in a weird, uncomfortable way, and Dave doesn’t appreciate the feeling.

He’s mad at her, because they promised each other, but he’s also got no leg to stand on right now.

So Dave doesn’t point out that Rose broke their promise. He just slides an arm under her side as she settles from the coughing fit and helps her to sit up. Her dress sticks to her everywhere, revealing quite clearly Rose Lalonde, co-queen of a kingdom, goddess of insight and luck and light, saw fit to discard her bra tonight and wear a dress that goes sheer when wet.

Dave knows more than he’d like to know about Rose’s body, considering the years between them, and the years they spent on the meteor, so only the faint impression of old earth’s _oh shit boobs_ attitude lingers. This is nothing compared to other shit they got up to as young and depressed teenagers. He just brushes the lank white hair out of Rose’s face and focuses on her strikingly purple eyes.

“You’re lucky some poor chess guy didn’t find you,” Dave informs Rose. “Would’ve given them trauma induced nightmares for the rest of their life, finding their god queen biting the big one in her own pool.”

“Which is why we got rid of the staff months ago, you know that,” She informs him right back, twice as hoarse in voice. She’s haughty in tone, but that’s just her default state. It would be more worrisome if she were to apologize.

Dave pulls his soaked t-shirt away from his chest, grimacing as it peels off his skin. Rose doesn’t even bother with her own clothes, just drawing her legs to herself and wrapping her arms around them. They sit in their joint puddle of unhappy feelings for a while, letting the chill creep into their bones until it’s more unbearable than the silence.

“You look like shit,” Dave comments eventually. Rose is back to full health, no longer corpse colored, but she still looks like something… drowned. Yeah.

“In the sanctity of my own home, I would think I am permitted to be less than stunning,” Rose replies derisively. “The double standards for gender roles were left behind three universes ago, Dave. A woman is allowed to look like shit rather than the epitome of beauty whenever she pleases.”

Dave tilts his head down, lips a thin line. “Wear a wet dress and ditch the undergarments if you want, but I’m pretty sure suicide is still illegal, Rose.”

Rose sniffs. “We’re gods, Dave. We can’t die unless we meet the qualifications of a nonsensical and interpretive set of rules.”

“You’re heart wasn’t beating for over five fucking hours,” Dave says, somewhat harshly. Rose goes quiet. “I’m not trained in any kind of medical expertise, but shit, Rose. That’s pretty dead.”

His hands twitch in his lap and Dave curls them into fists to avoid shaking. It gets easier but it doesn’t, handling someone being dead. Handling Rose being dead. Dave’s eyes sting dryly and he resists the urge to rub them. He’s too tired for this shit.

Rose runs a hand through her hair, dragging it backwards into a messy slick. It leaves her face exposed and reveals her long lashes, which stand out under the light from above them as she blinks once, twice. She shuts her eyes, sighing.

“I have no excuse,” She says softly, after a long beat. Dave grunts.

“What was it this time?” He asks.

“Kanaya is turning forty- ah, no. Nineteen sweeps. She’ll be nineteen sweeps this year,” Rose says, and looks so tired as she does. “I scarcely look eleven.”

Dave does a few calculations in his head- Rose tries hard to use Alternian chronology for Kanaya, but Dave is a little stuck on human earth calendars, given his powers and all- and comes up with forty and some months for Kanaya, and twenty-five for Rose.

“Midlife crisis, then,” Dave summarizes. Rose titters tightly.

“If only it were that.”

He shrugs. “Not like we’re in different boats here.”

Rose slides a violet iris to him, and reaches across the short space between them. With her thin little fingers, Rose slides his sunglasses off. Only she and Karkat are allowed to do that, and it’s only because of that fact he lets her.

Rose hooks his glasses on his shirt collar, lifting her hand back up to delicately trace the black circles under his eyes.

“And you deal with it in such a comparably stellar manner,” She responds finally, cupping his cheek and examining the sallowness Dave knows is in his cheeks. “How long has it been?”

Dave doesn’t answer.

“Dave.” Rose’s eyes glint. “How long.”

He relents. “One hundred and fifty-two hours, thirty-nine minutes, four seconds and counting.” Gods can go longer than the average schmuck before hallucinating, and even longer before they die.

Rose frowns at him, and her eyes show how much the number hurts her. She rubs his cheek with her thumb, biting her smudged black lips. “You didn’t tell me you stopped sleeping again.”

“You didn’t tell me you were looking to literally drown your sorrows, either,” Dave shoots back, and dislikes it when Rose’s hand drops from his face. He misses its presence, even if he’s a knot of frustration and hurt right now.

“Communication, for all our lengthy conversations, was never our strong point, was it?” Rose observes softly. She curls around herself again, looking at anything other than Dave.

“Nah,” Dave says, dropping his eyes to his soaking jeans. “Kind of a shitty irony.”

Rose doesn’t respond, and they sit like the emotionally stunted, uncommunicable assholes they are in the puddle of misery they made themselves. They’re supposed to support each other, look after one another and make sure they don’t do stupid self-destructive shit like this. Some moirails they are.

“We’re fucking awful at this,” Dave mutters, tired in a lot of ways he’d rather not be.

“An apt assessment,” Rose agrees. He hears the nearly hidden regret in her words, because even now they’re cagey about how they feel when they’re upset. Especially when they’re caught in a downward spiral of self-loathing.

Actions are a little easier, though. Like reaching out and pulling on the hem of Rose’s dress, silently asking. Her hand slips around Dave’s almost immediately, their fingers sliding together and holding tight.

A moment later, and Dave and Rose are winding around each other in a wet, desperate hug. He puts his face in her damp shoulder, smelling pool and his sister’s skin. Against his ear he feels her pulse, hears the air going in and out of her throat, and hugs her tighter to press the sensations into himself.

She’s alive, she’s alive and neither of them can die. Neither of them can die and as much as that terrifies them sometimes, it’s a god damn blessing here and now.

They can’t die, but without Rose Dave knows he’d find a way. She’s told him she’d do the same if it were reversed.

Rose’s sharp nails dig into his back as she holds onto him, a shuddery breath moving through her thin body and coming out hoarse. Dave’s eyes aren’t just stinging from lack of sleep anymore, and they’re considerably wetter as Rose makes a quiet little sound by his ear. Something close to a cry, but too short and dainty to be.

Sometimes she sobs for hours, sometimes he does. Tonight they just hold onto each other and blink tears away until they can breathe right again. It’s not so bad they breakdown completely, or maybe it’s so bad they’ve relapsed too far into old habits to do so. Dave can’t tell.

He doesn’t really care.

They’re both shivering, chilled by the air and by the mass of self-inflicted feelings inside themselves. It’s a lot less cold with Rose halfway into his lap and keeping her arms locked around his shoulders.

Dave rubs one hand up and down her back, feeling the bumps of her spine and ribs. He feels her hands find one scar he’s got on the back of his neck, a particularly nasty one from a strife when he tried turning his back on Bro to run away- her fingers run along it, icy to the touch, and different enough from the agony of steel and hot blood that Dave barely thinks on the memory longer than a second.

“I told you why I fell off the wagon, Dave,” Rose says in a hushed voice, leaving the scar be and moving to tangle her fingers in his wet hair. “Tell me why you did.”

Dave shrugs, keeping his world dark as he hides in his sister’s neck. “Nothing really. Dumb shit.” She waits, massaging his scalp, and Dave continues after he wrangles his own feelings into submission again. “It’s his birthday next month.”

Rose hums; the sound warm and full in Dave’s ear. She doesn’t ask who the person is, because she knows. “And?”

“And I made a dumb mistake by getting lost in my head,” Dave continues. He can usually handle the weird hang up he has on Bro’s birthday- they never even _did much_ for it, it makes no sense- but he fucked up this year. “Ended up wandering around the city, headphones on and everything- and I just, forgot to pay attention to where I was headed. There’s too many parks in trolltopia, you know? I can’t tell them all apart even when I’m on the ball, and fuck if I know west from east when I’m full on dissociating.”

Rose keeps massaging his scalp, patient.

“Strife hobbyist group,” Dave finally explains, voice dropping low despite his attempts to keep it level. “There were swords involved. I wasn’t even all that near, Jesus, but I just- got _stuck_ , and it’s fucking stupid but I couldn’t move until they stopped strifing and noticed their local godly ruler was having a stroll right by their weekend sparring field.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. They might look young but he’s a grown man. He hates being unable to handle this, even now. “Should’ve just walked away instead of staring into space like a braindead tool.”

“And I should have confided in you that I was being drawn back into a spiral of fear and self-loathing again,” Rose comforts. She presses her lips to his neck, sighing through her nose. It’s warmer than either of them are. “We both made some bad judgements as of late.”

Dave draws back, partly reluctant to. Rose watches him through her lashes, and like always, it feels like she’s seeing way deeper than most people ever will into him. Dave kinda wonders why it feels like that, when really, there’s not that much depth to him at all.

People (Rose, Karkat) tell him otherwise. He still doesn’t quite believe them.

Dave looks over his sister, who is pale as ever and resembles strongly a white cat dunked in water. Almost too thin everywhere she isn’t gently curvy, and built out of somewhat vicious tendencies, meticulously kept aloofness, and an impulsive streak ten miles long.

She’s beautiful, even if she’s as much a mess as Dave is.

Because they’re alone and it feels right, he leans close again and presses his lips to her forehead; then tilting his chin down and putting their heads together. Her eyes are close enough they blur into whites and purples, and Dave counts the nearly invisible freckles under them.

“I think we need to actually read one of those handbooks Karkat gave us,” Dave says wryly. His partner used to unsubtly leave moirallegiance handbooks out _everywhere_ when he and Rose first started figuring this out. Dave never actually read one, since he’d thought _it can’t be that different from just being friends/estranged siblings, right?_

“I already have,” Rose says, because of course she has. “I can’t say I’ve been all that good about following the advisory tips, unfortunately.”

“I live with the guy who’s favorite hobby is dissecting romcom relationship dynamics. Loudly. I thought I could get by with just osmosis.”

“Perhaps relationship counselling?” She suggest.

Dave makes a _please no_ noise, grimacing deeply. Rose huffs. “I take that as a no.” She pauses, and then says softly, “Dave, I’m sorry.”

“Oh shit, a sincere and straightforward apology from Rose Lalonde? I think the world’s ending again,” Dave doesn’t flinch when Rose draws away from him to give a flat stare, but he does feel a little bad for interrupting. “Sorry, go on.”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “I attempt to apologize like a civil, non-complex afflicted individual, and you mock me for it. My therapist will be in tears of frustration at my lost progress.”

“The day you actually set foot in a real therapist’s office will be the day you give up overanalyzing every Freudian slip our friends make. And you have so much fun with John’s dickups. I mean slipups.”

Rose smiles faintly. “No you don’t.”

“Nah, definitely do not,” Dave smiles back. “But seriously, say what you need to. I, uh, I’ll keep things mature until you’re done.”

Rose’s shoulders rise, and then fall. She still looks tired, if less suicidal. “I’m sorry, Dave. We both may have been keeping our rough patches from one another, but I am the one who took the most direct action of self-destruction.”

Dave quirks an eyebrow. “It’s not like I wouldn’t have dropped in a few more days.”

“There’s a difference between keeping yourself awake until sheer exhaustion knocks you out, and holding yourself underwater until you drown.”

“Not much. Exhaustion kills you when it gets to a point.”

“A watery asphyxiation by my own hand is still more severe than that.”

“So’s drugging yourself with enough energy shots to give your heart an arrhythmia.”

Rose purses her lips. “Let’s agree to disagree. Competitive comparisons of mental health failings helps no one. Anyway,” She says before Dave can butt in. “I offer you my apology for what I did, whether you accept it or not.”

Dave doesn’t hesitate in his response. “Course I do, Lalonde. But you gotta listen to mine, too, if you’re going to get all pale like that.” He smirks at her. Rose gives him an exasperated look. “I’m sorry, too. We literally had an in writing accord that when we get bad, we fucking talk to each other about it. I spent way too long an afternoon on that thing with you to ignore its existence now. We both broke it, not just you. So… I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Rose replies, taking his hands into hers as he reaches for them. His are a little bigger, now that puberty is long done, and they’ve got scars in a hundred different spots hers don’t. But they’re still close enough in resemblance he sees their relation.

It’s a comfort, to know that however badly they fuck themselves up, lie and keep secrets from each other- genetics ensures they’ve got a connection that won’t break by any means.

Maybe they can’t die, and will have to watch the people they love age in ways they won’t- Jane and Dave together can rewind their ages, regenerate youth, but it’s just not the same as being a God Tier- but at least through all that, they’ll have each other no matter how long time stretches on.

Dave feels he’s still riding the unfortunate bump of fresh trauma from earlier, the way his thoughts keep getting mushy with his consent. It’s not something that really bothers him in the moment, wrapping himself back around Rose and sinking into the mutual apology and acceptance. Alone on the pool deck together, they sit and just mend themselves in the presence of their twin, not talking for a length of time.

 

 

 

“Kanaya will be so disappointed,” Rose mourns, once they try to stand again. Her dress still sticks to her in places, and otherwise hangs heavy everywhere else. “I think this was a birthday gift.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Dave snorts. “You can’t just toss yourself in the drink and be done with it. Nah, you need to be a twelve out of ten and ready for the president’s cocktail party before you’re fit to drink your poison.”

“Last I checked, we have no presidents to speak of anymore.”

“Eh, old world government tiers still work if it’s in the presence of in-the-know individuals.”

“Hispter.”

“Cauldron calling the kettle black. Don’t think your Sappho collection ever got forgotten.”

Rose sniffs. “Classic lesbian literature is quite different from an outdated patriarchy based power system, thank you.”

“Fair, but you’re a hipster in your own ways, Rose.”

She doesn’t respond beyond a dismissive hum. They’ve had this conversation nine times already and it’s gone in loops for hours if they let it. Best to wait until they’re dry to start it up properly.

Rose leaves the ground, stepping into thin air and flying out across the pool towards the exit. Dave follows slowly, and watches as her dress trails against the water. The ripples they leave disturb the mirror perfect surface a third time since he found her.

Dave hooks an arm around Rose’s waist, and she returns the gesture. He banishes the memory of her lifeless body under that rippling surface, even though he knows it’ll come back to haunt him at least a few times before this can be processed completely.

Because carapaciens have only one mode when it comes to their gods- _undying adoration_ is the least extravagant way to say it- the veritable mansion Rose and Kanaya ended up in is barely not a castle. The swimming pool on the middle level isn’t even the most lavish thing.

They pass by the bigger rooms, headed for the one they always use when it’s been a Night for them. It’s on the eastern side, where the sun will rise tomorrow and shine through the curtains to burn their sleep deprived retinas out of their skulls and force them into the land of the living. A full-proof plan that usually works if one of them doesn’t shut the curtains and pull the other back under the thick comforter.

There’s an ensuite bathroom attached to the wide bedroom, big enough that it makes the tiny closet washroom in Dave’s old Houston apartment look even smaller than it had been. The whole set up might just be larger than that old place; thick carpets and actual drapes and furniture that’s fit for royalty. Dave drops onto the first loveseat he passes, dampening the rich purple fabric with his soaked clothes.

Rose bends briefly near him, turning her back and gesturing vaguely at the straps holding her dress up. Dave obliges her and unhooks the clips. As she stands and walks away, he decaptchalogues his phone to start mindlessly scrolling social media while she takes first shower. He doesn’t even glance over as she drops her dress at the door, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

When Rose emerges again, wrapped in a wide and thick towel, she looks better all around. Dave stands and takes his turn, dropping a kiss to her temple as they pass each other and then dropping his itchy, half dried clothes on top of Rose’s. He shuts the door as she starts getting changed in the bedroom, and walks right into the still running shower. It’s hot enough it burns a little, chasing the chill out of his system.

Dave shuts it off when he no longer feels the itch of dried chlorine on his skin. There are still plenty of big warm towels for him on the rack, and he wraps one around his waist. Another smaller one goes around his head, just for the hell of it.

Rose is on the bed already when he walks out; dressed in a baggy old t-shirt proclaiming _Foxy Grandpa_ she probably alchemized years ago, and soft pajama pants. Her hair is still a mess, and her black lipstick has been wiped clean. She’s brought out her laptop and is probably scrolling through whatever her video library has to offer.

Rose slides her eyes from the screen to Dave’s face, and she gives a faint smile. He decaptchalogues his own pajamas into his arms, smiling back at her before he starts changing. They’ve been around the Harley-Englishs way too long to be bothered by nudity, let alone each other’s. The tenth time Dave wandered into Jade’s personal garden and she was sans shirt under the hot sun, he’d gotten over it. Mostly.

It’s different with Rose, versus Jade who is twice their size in a lot of ways and not his sister. It’s mostly like glancing at a reflection of himself, really. Just with slightly different parts and heights.

Dave slides onto the cloudlike mattress once his undershirt and shorts are on, scooting to the middle of the bed where Rose is. With a mountain of pillows propping them up, they settle into the position they want to have tonight.

Dave opts to put his head on her chest, listening to the steady tempo of her heart for definitely trauma related reasons. Rose’s cheek rests on the top of his skull, arm under his neck and holding him close. Their legs end up tangling together as they rest their hipbones against one another; sharing residual warmth of their showers. Rose sets the laptop to the side Dave isn’t on, screen angled so they can both see as she presses play.

Her hand paps his cheek only once, and he returns the favor. It’s mostly just a formal recognition thing for them, rather than the soppy calm-down switch like it is for trolls. Cuddling like octopi works just fine on its own for their informal piling.

“Can’t believe troll Jaden Smith got an anime before I did,” Dave mumbles as the pastel opening credits begin. It’s considered a classic now days, and Dave feels weirdly old since he remembers when it first came out. “Still haven’t gotten one either, damn. I need to get on that shit.”

“What genre will you be classifying it as?” Rose asks, tangling her fingers in his hair for the umpteenth time.

“Maybe sci-fi or something, but I’m also still leaning towards maid café.”

“And the story?”

“Underground government revolution, duh.”

“Excellent choice, brother dear. Keeping to what our family knows best, are we?”

“Roxy and Dirk are too good a material source to waste.”

“As is our alternate selves’s history as resistors.”

“Obviously.”

They run through the first half of the episode before Dave starts to really wind down. He’s gone days without sleep, out of some kind of fear/self-punishment reasoning, and he’s beyond absolutely exhausted despite his pretending to be otherwise. Rose’s nails are gentle against his scalp and her body warmly pressed to his, so Dave’s mind is relaxing out of its sleep resistant anxiety without his prompt. Even if he has nightmares- and inevitably he will- Dave will wake up right next to his sister and moirail. He’s safe.

If he wakes up thrashing, fighting against spectres of his past or trying to rescue his drowning sister, Rose will just hold his face and make him focus on her, on the present. She’s the god of clarity in a manner of speaking; she’s the only one who can snap him out of an attack besides Karkat. And not just because of her powers.

If and when Dave will wake up, surfacing from a nightmare that sends his heart beating painfully fast in his chest and leaves him breathless, she’ll be right there to talk him down, kiss his temples and cheeks and keep holding him until the shakes fade. And if and when Rose wakes up like that, stifling cries about what she’s lost and may yet lose, shivering from images of things that’ve been in her head and the way her wife’s eyes gain wrinkles as years past- Dave will take a turn holding her close until she breathes evenly again, regaining sense of where she is and who she’s with. He’ll look her in the eye and make her look back, cupping her cheek gently and pressing his lips to her forehead, and they’ll tangle themselves up until everything passes and its morning again.

They’re not picture perfect moirails, but they’re there for each other as much as they can be. It works majority of the time, and they make up for it later when they falter. And that’s good enough.

Dave sinks into the heavy exhaustion inside him, not quite as afraid any longer while he’s wrapped around Rose. She cuddles him as close as he does her, and Dave drifts off to the sound of her breathing.

When morning- afternoon, nearly- rolls around, they’ve only woken each other once in the night, and Dave feels considerably less like he’s dying slowly. Rose, in turn, seems considerably less like she really did die the night prior.

Before they haul themselves upright again, to check in with their friends and partners and put real food into their stomachs, they lie around in the enormous and soft bed. Talking quietly and touching intimately, just enjoying the calmness that comes from being together and around no one else. They’ve become better practiced over the years, opening up around their friends and loved ones- but it’s still hard, and sometimes they can only manage it with each other.

It’s good, just lying together and talking in circles. It’s what they should do more often, so weeks and nights they’ve been having don’t happen.

When they do sit up from the covers and pillows, Dave watches his sister pull open fully the heavy drapes, pushing outwards the panes and letting the afternoon sun inside. It illuminates the pale white of her everything, and makes her shine gold.

Standing in the open sunlight, lavender eyed and glowing bright, Dave finds again he will always strongly prefer her like this. Sleep rumpled and sunlit as the open window blows her short hair, rather than elegantly dressed and still like an empty shell against the bottom of a pool.

That preference is an easily guessed one, seeing as the smile Rose turns on him says she knows exactly what he’s thinking of her at the moment.

“We’ll talk next time,” She promises him, and that’s enough for Dave.

**Author's Note:**

> was this any good? dunno. i just love these two loving each other. thanks for coming to my ted talk on why daverose is still good in any form.
> 
> i have a tumblr also, [so hmu on it.](https://ambiencespectrum.tumblr.com/)


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